


'Twas a dark and stormy night

by Drifting_clouds



Series: The series with no name yet [1]
Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1647869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drifting_clouds/pseuds/Drifting_clouds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's raining in Silverstone and Jorge's plan for the evening might get sidetracked by a couple of unexpected guests (and a muddy sofa).</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Twas a dark and stormy night

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeated, so I apologize for the wobbly English.

Jorge is reading his telemetry data for the hundredth time when a soft noise outside his motorhome draws his attention. Blinking, the Spaniard turns his head to cast a puzzled look at the door, because he could swear someone just knocked on it. Unfortunately, the mad staccato of the rain that has been pounding on Silverstone for hours, makes it hard for the Yamaha driver to tell whether he really heard that soft tapping or not. _It was just the wind_ , he thinks with a shrug, _what kind of idiot would be walking around in such a rotten weather?_ The noise starts again, louder this time, so, yes, there’s actually someone stupid enough to be waiting outside his motorhome.  
  
Jorge heaves a sigh and drops the telemetry readout on top of the pile cluttering his table then pads towards the door.  
  
“I locked myself out.”      
  
Aleix tells him in the same tone many people would use to say something like _oh look, we ran out of milk_. As if standing in the icy rain were a perfectly normal thing to do on a Saturday evening.  
  
“You don’t happen to have an umbrella, do you?”  
  
Jorge rolls his eyes.  
  
“Somehow, I don’t think it would be of much use now.”  
  
Espargaró gives him a sheepish grin. In his arms Pippa whines softly as she casts Lorenzo a pleading look that doesn’t fool the Mallorcan a bit. Not when the little beagle is completely covered in thick mud and her owner looks like a drowned rat.  
  
“Why don’t you come in?”  
  
Aleix looks chilled to the bone and he’s shivering so much that his teeth are chattering, but he shakes his head as he absently tries to brush the rain off his face.  
  
“I don’t think it is a good idea.”  
  
“Neither was locking yourself out of your motorhome.... yet here you are” Jorge tells the other man as he gently grabs his arm, frowning at the cold skin under his touch “come on, let’s get you inside before you catch pneumonia and Pol claims it is my fault!”  
   
Aleix bites his lower lip (Jorge finds that gesture oddly endearing), glancing down at the dog with a worried frown on his face. Pippa wags her tail as she tries to squirm free, but he manages to keep the beagle from wiggling out of his grasp.  
  
“She can come in as well… I don’t mind” Jorge bestows the animal a generous smile “I’m sure you will behave, won’t you princess?”  
  
The dog barks a polite agreement as the Spaniard gives her a pat on the head, but as soon as her little paws touch the ground it becomes obvious that all that she really wants is to run into the warm and dry motorhome.  
  
“Pippa, no!” Aleix tries to stop her, but the dog darts under Jorge’s legs and makes a beeline for his couch. Barking loudly she bounces on the cushions a couple of times before rolling around the whole surface with a satisfied groan “No no no! Oh man, I’m so sorry!”  
  
Lorenzo knows he should be pissed, because his new and expensive couch is now covered in mud and dog hair, but one look at his countryman’s stricken face is enough to make him chuckle instead (because, yes, Aleix is still endearing as hell). The Yamaha driver wags a finger at the beagle and Pippa immediately sits down, offering her paw for a shake as she casts the man her most ingratiating canine smile.  
  
“Go take a hot shower” Jorge tells the other man as he opens his closet and grabs a handful of clothes that should fit him “and stop dripping all over my motorhome!”  
  
“Are you trying to get me undressed?” Aleix inquires with a little grin as he clumsily begins to slide one arm out of the soaked t-shirt he’s wearing “Because I could use a little help here…”  
  
Jorge rolls his eyes.  
  
“I’m very tempted to sit down and enjoy the show” he tells, pulling at the wet fabric stubbornly clinging to the other man’s body “you’d be the star of any strip club!”  
  
“Ow”Aleix groans as he manages to free himself with a final tug “fuck, that hurts!”  
  
Only then Lorenzo notices the large, dark purple bruise on his countryman’s upper back. It stands out against the pale skin like a weird tattoo and Lorenzo traces a finger over it before he realizes what he’s doing. They are standing very close now ( _too close_ , the Yamaha rider thinks idly), but if Aleix sees the slight blush creeping up his friend’s face he doesn’t comment on it.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“I crashed”  
  
Espargaró says and grabs Jorge’s arm to keep his balance as he tries to toe his sneakers off. Lorenzo find himself staring at his friend’s back, willing himself to look away from the strong muscles flexing under the smooth skin.  
   
“Oh so this is why Colin was at the _parc fermé_ ” he swallows hard, averting his eyes as Aleix finally manages to remove both shoes and kicks them away with a disgusted sigh “I thought you had some kind of mechanical failure…”  
  
“Nah, the tyres were still cold so when I got at Maggots the rear locked and I lost the bike… classic rookie mistake!”  
  
“Aleix!”  
  
“Oh man, not you too” Espargaró grins, raising his hands in mock surrender “Pol already read me the riot act all the way to the _Clinica Mobile_!”  
  
“Just go get a shower… and for God’s sake, try not to slip in my bathroom and break your neck, okay? The last thing I need tonight is to explain doctor Costa that I didn’t actually murder you…”  
  
***  
  
As soon as the bathroom door closes, Lorenzo takes a deep breath. _Okay, he’s cute_ , he tells himself as he sits down in front of his laptop, _but DON’T go there. Not with him. He’s just a friend and you don’t mess with a friend. Especially if that friend has a brother that will kill you!_ He briefly considers looking for a video of Aleix’s crash on YouTube, but he ends up browsing through his e-mails instead. In the bathroom the water is still running and the Spaniard closes the lid of his laptop with a groan. Grabbing the remote on the table, Jorge switches the TV on and idly flips through the whole channel list twice before settling on some obscure sport network broadcasting a curling game.  
  
"More than one hundred channels and nothing is on" he grumbles, glancing at Pippa asleep on his couch.  
  
The little beagle is snoring softly and since focusing on the dog and is a lot safer than focusing on her owner in the shower, the Spaniard decides to clean the muddy paw prints decorating the floor of his motorhome before they have time to dry completely.  
  
“I should do that…”  
  
Jorge starts. He has been so focused on his task that he hasn’t even noticed that Aleix is out of the bathroom and he’s now crouching barefoot in front of him. As he tries to snatch the sponge from his hands, Lorenzo sees the awkward way his countryman bends his fingers and casts him a questioning look.  
  
“Broken finger” Espargaró says with a shrug “but before you go into full mother hen mode, it’s a hairline fracture and it doesn’t even hurt.”  
  
Jorge just casts him a knowing look.  
  
“Okay, it hurts, but I took some painkillers before I locked myself out so it’s perfectly bearable.”  
  
“No, I’ll finish here” Lorenzo says as he bats the outstretched hand away, careful not to jostle the injured finger in any way “just go and sit down before you keel over.”  
  
“I should get going, Polyccio will be back soon and he has the spare key to my motorhome… besides you were probably busy and I don’t want to impose any more that I already did.”  
  
“You’re not going anywhere” Jorge shakes his head “now that you no longer looks like the ghost of Christmas past, I refuse to let you out in the rain once again. Not to mention that you’re wearing a factory Yamaha t-shirt and people might start to speculate… do you want Albert to kill us both?”  
  
“If that makes you feel better,  I’m pretty sure that if someone sees me sneaking out of here in the middle of the night wearing your clothes, well... team logos might not be the first thing on their minds!”  
  
The Spaniard finds himself grinning at the idea. Sure, he could object that ten o’clock hardly qualifies as the middle of the night, but it’s obvious that journalists (like Cal’s friend working at BBC) would have a field day with something like this.  
  
“But if you go now” he says, pointing a finger at the muted TV screen in a corner “you’re going to miss a great football game!”  
  
Aleix sits down on the bed, eyes glinting with the pleased look of a magpie spotting a coin shining in the sun.  
  
“Where’s your brother, anyway?” Jorge asks him as he drops the dirty sponge on the table and sits beside the younger man, so close that their legs are almost touching.  
  
“Out with Ricky, Jack Miller and Scotty.”  
  
“Scotty?”  
  
“Redding.”  
  
“Oooh” Lorenzo shakes his head, slightly intrigued by the nickname “and you trust the four of them to be out on their own without a grown-up to supervise them?”  
  
“Ricky is a grown-up, no?”  
  
“Ricky almost set my kitchen on fire last week when he tried to make chips, so I’m pretty sure he’s not qualified to keep them out of trouble.”  
  
Aleix flops down on the bed with a yawn. His right leg is now resting against Jorge’s, but the closeness doesn’t seem to bother him and he doesn’t pull away.  
  
“I’m too tired to be worried. So if they get arrested I’ll just have to sleep here… you don’t mind, do you?”  
  
Jorge tries to look nonchalant as he considers sending a message to his flatmate. Something along the lines of _you owe me a favour, so find a way to spend the night in jail_ would be perfect.  
  
“What game is it?” he asks, changing the subject as he nods towards the TV.  
  
“Breiðablik vs Íþróttafélagið Þór.”  
  
Lorenzo blinks.  
  
“Icelandic premier league.”  
  
“You’re making that up” he says as he leans forward to read the team names on top of the screen “Okay, how can you know that? Probably not even the Icelanders know they have a premier league championship!”  
  
Espargaró just scoffs at the idea that people might not know every team and result of every national championship in Europe. Hell, he’s the only person Jorge knows who might skip a MotoGP race to watch _el Clásico_ Real Madrid vs. Barçelona on TV! The Spaniard tries to focus on the match, but he soon has to accept that this must be the dullest game ever since football was invented. When he turns to tell Aleix, he notices that his countryman has curled on one side and he’s sound asleep with his injured hand tucked protectively under his chin.  
  
 _Just my luck_ , Lorenzo heaves a resigned sigh. _What the hell am I supposed to do now? Well, I could wake him up and… then what? You don’t mess with a fellow rider! Not with one on painkillers and with the deadly brother_.  
  
He could see him to Pol’s motorhome and leave him sitting there on the threshold like an oversized lost puppy, but it is such a pathetic mental image that he refuses to actually take it into consideration. Well, maybe, he could simply call the younger Espargaró and tell him to come and collect his brother when he’s back from his road trip with Scotty (he should probably inquire about the nickname as well).  
  
Looking down at Aleix, the Spaniard gently rubs his shoulder with a wry grin then he grabs his phone.  
  
 _//Jorge?//_  
  
 _//Ricky, hi… could you tell Pol that his brother accidentally locked himself out of his motorhome, but he’s sleeping with me tonight so he doesn’t have to worry?//_  
  
 _//Err, sure, I’ll tell him.//_ there’s an awkward pause, as if his friend is struggling with something _//I might have to edit that last sentence a bit, though…//_  
  
Jorge bites his lips as the message is passed on. He can’t make out what his housemate is actually saying because the sly bastard is covering the microphone with a hand, but whatever it is, it’s met with a chorus of voices talking excitedly in a dreadful mix of Spanish and English.  
  
 _//I’m on my way//_ another voice (probably the younger Espargaró’s) suddenly shouts in his ear.  
  
 _//He’s fine… he took some painkillers and now he’s down for the count. He just needs a good night’s sleep //_  
  
 _//Are you a doctor now?//_  
  
 _//No, but I don’t need to be one to know that you’re being paranoid. Oh, by the way, when I said ‘sleeping with me’ I meant that he’s sleeping here. With me. As in my motorhome.//_  
  
When his words are met with howls of laughter, the Spaniard realizes that Ricky has put him on speakerphone (and he’s now providing a detailed translation for the non-Spanish speakers).  
  
 _//Thanks for letting us know//_ that’s the somewhat dry answer he gets from Pol _// but please just do not try to make the situation any less awkward or we’re going to crash into a tree because Scott is laughing too hard to keep the car on the road!//_  
  
Jorge hangs up with a sigh, rubbing his temples wearily. Maybe he should just share the mud-covered sofa with Pippa and leave the whole bed to Aleix. Yes, it would actually be the best solution, a very sensible one even if his shoulder is going to kill him in the morning. He’s about to move away when he notices that the other man is watching him through half-lidded eyes. Only then he realizes that he’s still rubbing Aleix’s shoulder and his hand stops mid-motion.  
  
“Your brother says that you can sleep over.”  
  
“Really? Cool!”  
  
“Go back to sleep.” Jorge says, shaking his head fondly.  
  
His fellow Spaniard mutters something unintelligible and stretches out a hand, grabbing Jorge by the wrist and gently tugging until the other man is laying beside him.  
  
“Bed is big enough. I don’t mind sharing…”  
  
“Of course you don’t mind sharing, it’s MY bed!”  
  
Lorenzo grumbles, but before he can protest again, Espargaró half rolls and half crawls towards him, using the other man’s shoulder as a pillow and draping an arm across Jorge’s chest.  
  
“Stop complaining.” he tells him drowsily.  
  
Jorge turns his head to cast a glance at the other man, catching the fleeting smile on his face before Aleix turns on his side and buries his face into the base of his friend’s neck.  
  
 _This is going to be a long night_ , Jorge sighs as he closes his eyes. _A very long night, indeed_.  
  
***  
  
The motorhome is empty when Lorenzo wakes up in the morning. The Spaniard sits up in bed with a frown, wondering how Aleix (who is as graceful as a herd of elephants) managed to slip away without actually waking him up.  
  
Only then his eyes fall on the folded scrap of paper saying ‘ _Sorry but you both looked so cute_ :-)’ resting on top of his phone. A twinge of unease runs down his spine as he slides a finger across the screen to unlock it, because the phone is nowhere near the last place he left it and this is definitely not good.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Jorge cannot but grin at his new wallpaper. And he’s still grinning even as Cal and Scott both retweet the picture of himself fast asleep and sprawled on the bed with Pippa resting her head on his shoulder. Because, hell yeah, they are cute!  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I might turn this into a series, but I'm lazy so it will probably never happen...


End file.
